Oh, To Be Loved Naked.
For the wilting as well as blooming petals.
Oh, to be loved naked.
Not naked in pink flesh,
messy hair and flushed cheeks.
Not naked in the search for building waves,
with resulting crashes.
Oh, to be loved naked.
For the manmade scars on my thighs and arms
to be seen for what they are.
For the sharp knives I use as words when tired of being cut.
For the ignorant letters I spew,
to only regret once the sun has peaked and begins to sink.
Oh, to be loved naked.
For the wilting as well as blooming petals.
For the rotting stench as well as the rosy perfume.
Oh, for all of the dark spots to be white noise.
Still part of the beautiful scenery,
But a blurred background against sharp crystal lines,
That shape bookstores dimly lit by candlelight.
That shape steam rising from slightly chipped porcelain mugs.
That shape the “good,”
Yet don’t ignore the “bad.”
Oh,
to be loved
naked.
-ARTEMIS INKS
